2.
Dinner (or thereabouts)
Sam turns the rental into the cul-de-sac. She's a little bit amazed that she's managed to find it - only taking one wrong turn in the process. The feeling dissipates quickly, though; her heart is hammering an alarming rhythm against her ribcage, and it only gets worse as she approaches the house tucked away at the end of the street. With every residence she passes, her grip tightens fractionally on the steering wheel. Finally, she pulls into his driveway, and the sudden scrunch of gravel has no less of an effect on her than it did the first time - except that now she's on edge for very different reasons.
She brakes just slightly too late and narrowly misses bumping into the back of his truck.
The sudden shift in momentum pitches her bag forward, and she watches helplessly as it tumbles off of the passenger seat and spills most of its contents over the floor. She exhales a shaky breath and squeezes her eyes shut for just a moment, briefly entertaining the idea of turning around and heading back to her hotel.
Or the base.
She thinks he's probably seen her pull in. At the very least, he's heard her.
She knows it's too late. She has to get out of the car and walk up to his door and knock on it like a normal human being would when they've been invited over for dinner. But she feels horribly out of her depth with this, and doesn't really know what she's doing. What they're doing.
They're colleagues. And not even the distant, different department sort of colleagues.
He's essentially her boss.
Well, maybe not technically. That would be General Hammond. But she knows how thin that particular argument is, because when they're out in the field Jack is definitely her boss.
For the first time in a long, long time she thinks of Liz; specifically that Cheshire Cat smile she gave Sam in the commissary all those years ago when Sam had told her how the Colonel 'interested' her. She'd told Sam then that there were some things in life that you just couldn't control. Sam wonders what Liz would say if she could see the path that that interest had taken; could see where it has led.
Liz would love this.
But it's the choice in front of her now that frightens Sam the most - the path that she hasn't yet walked. She's outside the wire now, and everything in her that's still military screams at her to put the car in reverse and drive - far, far away from this house. It would be so much easier if she was still enlisted; there would be no choice to make. She wouldn't even be here, outside the Colonel's house, sitting in this stuffy rental with its fake new-car smell that made her want to purposefully spill some of her early morning coffee onto one of the seats each morning she got into it just so it wouldn't feel so temporary.
But she's not enlisted.
She's the sole survivor of a plane crash who woke up from a coma and decided that some things were worth the risk, and she's made changes. Big changes.
She questions whether she would alter any of it if she knew it would lead her here.
The answer is clear to her before she's even finished processing the question.
She looks over at her bag. It's a chaotic mess, and Sam barks a laugh at it because it's a little bit like her life at the moment. She doesn't need anything in it, though - she's not even sure why she brought it - so she'll worry about the chaos later.
Let the chips fall where they may, she thinks.
She pulls the key from the ignition and turns to open her door only to find something hovering in her eye line just on the other side of the glass.
She startles, and her eyes dart to her hands as she drops the key and grabs the handle, instinctively preparing to use the car door as a ram against her would-be assailant.
She manages to stop herself just in time, because she knows - before she even hears the clink of glass on glass as he taps his beer bottle on her window - that it's him.
She's glad she's not looking at him, because in that moment she hates him.
Just a little.
It's the second time today that he's nearly given her a heart attack.
And then she looks up at him through the window and he grins down at her, and there's some strange mix of fire and mischief dancing in his eyes. He's dangerous, and she knows with absolute certainty that it's not the last time this man is going to frighten the life out of her.
She's not sure if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.
He steps away, bringing the car door with him, and Sam lets the handle slide from her grasp.
"You planning on stay out here all evening?"
She could try to cobble together some feeble explanation for sitting out in his driveway; something that she knew 'military' Sam would definitely have done. But instead, she levels him with her iciest glare.
He simply arches an eyebrow at her and casually takes a swig of his beer.
It's a gauntlet thrown at her feet, and right now, she's OK with choosing the risky option.
"You got another one of those inside?"
The grin he's still wearing turns wicked, and he wipes off the top of the bottle before holding it out to her.
"Just opened," he says smoothly, "and you do look like you could use it."
She's gobsmacked, and for a few seconds all thought comes to a screeching halt. And then she remembers that she's already picked up that gauntlet, and so she confidently swings her legs around and steps out of the car, and right into his space - pulling the bottle from his hand as she does.
She lifts the beer to her lips, watching his reaction closely, and takes a pull. His jaw goes slack, and she doesn't miss the bob of his Adam's apple. His eyes find hers and it feels like they're in the middle of a wild west standoff; each waiting for the other to make the first move.
She's a little horrified at herself in this moment.
But she's pretty proud, too, because she didn't make the calculated choice. She's gone with her gut and it's exhilarating to lose and gain everything all at once. She thinks she understands a bit more about how this man in front of her operates.
"Ah, Jack."
The moment snaps like the string from a bow drawn too tight, and Sam blinks, turning in the direction of the voice.
"Oh. Hi, Sam. Glad you could make it."
"Daniel," she says. There's a little squeak of surprise in her voice that is unmistakable; it's the second time today that she hasn't wanted to see Daniel and has been blatantly obvious about it.
She feels terrible.
There's a twitch at the corner of Daniel's mouth, though, and she thinks that those wide eyes of his are not so guileless.
She glances back at Jack, and he's also turned his head in Daniel's direction, but he seems frozen in place - his hand outstretched as if he's still holding that beer bottle that she'd taken from him.
"I think your steaks are on fire."
For the first time, Sam notices a plume of smoke rising from somewhere round back of the house. Jack visibly shakes himself and takes a step away from her.
"On it," he says, throwing her a look that she finds indecipherable before jogging off around the side of the house.
Sam is suddenly very aware of everything around her; one hand gripping the top of the car-door frame, the low angle of the sun as it neared sundown, the growing chill in the air, Daniel's eyes on her, and the cool condensation of the nearly-full beer bottle against the palm of her other hand.
She looks at Daniel, offers him a wry smile, and then takes a very long pull off of her beer.
Daniel cleverly makes himself scarce while she searches for the car key she dropped, and she takes her time about finding it.
What she's really doing is trying to talk herself out of the feeling that she just completely misunderstood his invitation; that she's stupidly walked into this with the totally wrong idea that dinner logically meant date. Because it definitely did.
Didn't it?
Especially when he hadn't mentioned anyone else joining them.
She takes a deep breath and sighs heavily, but her eyes fall on her upturned bag once more. She pauses, and then reaches across the seat and pulls it upright before scooping its scattered contents back into it.
So much for letting the chips fall where they may.
She locks the car door and heads in the direction Jack and Daniel had disappeared.
As she rounds the side of the house she takes another sip of her beer - nearly finished now - and shoves the car key into her pocket. There's a little porch facing onto the backyard, and Jack stands in front of a barbeque rescuing what indeed looks like steaks that were recently on fire. They are thoroughly blackened, and he deftly manoeuvres them from the grill to a plate held by a tall figure that is definitely not Daniel.
Teal'c turns his gaze on her, hardly moving a muscle in the process, and the fading light glints off of the strange golden emblem on his forehead.
It would be intimidating except that the plate looks so tiny in his large hands, and he holds it so very carefully.
"Doctor Carter," he says. "It is good to see you once again."
The timbre of his voice is soothing, and the rhythm so perfectly metered that she feels some of the tension ease from her shoulders.
"Hey, Teal'c," she replies with a lift of her chin and a small smile. She's actually relieved, because having Teal'c there changes things; she doesn't think she can take any more of Daniel's knowing looks and pointed exits.
This is better.
It feels less like they're being chaperoned, and more like a night out with her new team - and she can certainly see the value in that.
She just wishes Jack could've been a little clearer on the whole 'dinner' thing.
She looks at Jack then, and his eyes flick momentarily to hers. There's that indecipherable look again, and she wishes she knew what was going on in that head of his.
"I am assisting O'Neill with preparation of this evenings meal."
"Personally, I think 'assistance' is futile," Daniel says, pushing open the back door and stepping out onto the porch. He's carrying more plates and a basket of bread rolls.
"Very funny, Daniel," Jack says.
"Really, Jack? Star Trek but not Star Wars?" Daniel shoots back.
"Is that from Star Trek? I thought it was just... you know..." Jack gestures at Daniel with his barbeque tongs, narrowly missing Teal'c's arm, "... a cliché."
"It is," Daniel says.
Sam watches Jack's brow furrow at that. "From Star Trek, or a cliché?" he says.
"A popular cultural reference which originated in Star Trek and has now become a cliché," Daniel says. He grins, and Jack glowers at him, and Sam finds herself covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her chuckle.
Teal'c raises one impeccably shaped eyebrow and gives Daniel a sidelong look.
"Teal'c, I think you'll really love Star Wars," Daniel adds, turning towards the small table nestled into the corner just behind Jack.
"Jaffa are indeed warriors, Daniel Jackson, but it is duty and honour that compels us to fight. I would not refer to that compulsion as 'love'."
"Oh. No. It's a film. A trilogy, actually - " Daniel waves one hand in response. He's still carrying the bread rolls and one tumbles off of the side. Jack deftly snatches it from the air before it's even fallen a single foot. The catch is left-handed, too, and Sam is suitably impressed with his reflexes.
She's gotten the impression over the last few days that he likes to play down this side of himself.
Jack places the roll back on top of the pile.
" - it's not real," Daniel finishes, still staring at Jack.
"How can one love something that is not real, Daniel Jackson?"
"Us humans are pretty good at that, sometimes to our detriment," Jack says, tossing another steak onto the plate Teal'c holds. "You'll see."
There's an odd tone to his voice, and Sam wonders for a moment what he really means by that as she makes her way up the small steps and joins them all on the porch. She notices Daniel giving her an assessing once-over.
"You are not wearing your usual attire, Doctor Carter," Teal'c says, obviously having seen the direction of Daniel's gaze.
Sam feels heat prickle at her neck. She's suddenly very glad that most of her clothes are still back in D.C. - she only brought along a few casual items and what she's wearing represents the best of them.
She did put on lipstick, though.
And her top's a little lower cut than her usual.
Oh, god.
She wants nothing more than to bury her face in her hands - or to flee.
"Can I help with anything?" she says instead.
"There's some salad and cutlery on the table in there," Jack says, inclining his head towards the back door. "And you should get yourself another beer."
It's like he's reading her mind.
She swirls the dregs in the bottle she's still holding and heads for the door.
It turns out much better than she thought it would.
The meat, that is.
The evening, too, if she's being honest.
Daniel stops with his subtle insinuations about half an hour into dinner. She wonders if Jack pulled him aside when they both disappeared for a fresh beer, because Daniel seems like he's a lightweight, and when he comes back he definitely doesn't have a beer in his hand.
He and Teal'c are now well into an animated two hour conversation about Jaffa culture.
Sam is happy to sit back and listen to them, letting the conversation wash over her. It's fascinating, really, but she wants to hear a little more about their alien technology and a little less about Jaffa rites of passage. She's disappointed that the Jaffa seem to have no idea how Goa'uld tech works.
It makes sense that the Goa'uld wouldn't educate their slaves, though; knowledge is power, no matter what culture you come from.
She notices that the Colonel has also been pretty quiet. He sits across from her, and he's practically nothing but a silhouette against the porch-light above the back door.
She checks her watch, and can just about make out that it's approaching 2200. She's actually tired, and the temperature outside has dropped considerably - they don't even have the residual heat of the barbeque to warm them anymore.
She stands and starts gathering their plates. Daniel and Teal'c pause in their conversation, and Jack is on his feet immediately, snatching the plates from her hands.
"Guest in my home, Carter. Remember?"
She winces at his use of her surname, and she thinks he sees it because he adds more softly; "But you can bring in some of those empties if you want."
Teal'c begins to rise from his chair and Jack points at him. "And you two: stay."
Sam grabs a couple of bottles and makes her way around the table. Jack's waiting for her at the door, holding it open with one foot. She slips past him and through to the kitchen where she deposits the bottles by the sink.
When she turns around, he's right there. The unexpected proximity has her backing up, and she stops abruptly when her hips hit the counter behind her.
"Easy," he says, reaching past her to set the plates down next to the bottles.
She steels herself then, because despite how pleasant the evening has been it's still not what she had been expecting, and she's annoyed.
She's not quite sure if she's more annoyed with herself, or with him, but it's there, and she needs more information before she decides who to direct her ire at.
"So this is what you meant by dinner?"
It's his turn to wince, and he drops his gaze before bringing one hand up to rub through his hair.
"Not quite," he admits after a beat. He takes a small step back, lowering his arm again and shoving his hands into his pockets.
"So?"
His eyes find hers, and she feels him studying her as if he's trying to gauge how important this is to her. She wonders if the invitation meant more to her than it did him, and her heart sinks a little at the thought.
"So... I went to see Teal'c, and he looked so... bored."
"Teal'c did not look bored," she says, folding her arms across her chest.
"OK, he was stoic. He's always stoic. I was bored for him."
"And Daniel?"
"You saw Daniel this morning."
His voice is low, incredulous, and Sam feels a twinge of guilt at that. She knows it registers on her face because his eyebrows go up in response. It doesn't change the fact that he'd altered the plan and hadn't bothered to even give her a heads up.
"That's not the point," she says, shaking her head at him.
"What is the point, Sam?" His tone is still hard, and she doesn't like the way her name sounds in it. The kitchen is so still she thinks she could hear a pin drop.
"This is... complicated," she says, her voice practically a whisper.
He barks a laugh then, throwing his head back a little. It's jarring in comparison to her quiet words, and she bristles.
"That is quite an understatement."
"You are not my superior officer," she says, and she remembers her train of thought out in the car earlier. "But you could be. If you wanted that. It would certainly make things less complicated, wouldn't it?"
Her words are like ice gliding over her tongue. It's a cheap shot, and she knows it, but their conversation up until this point has given her basically zero information and she finds that she wants to provoke him.
Just a little.
She's not really prepared for his reaction.
His face falls, and although he doesn't move an inch she feels him retreat from her. Every line in his frame stiffens, but the worse thing is that that light in his eyes dims. She sees it.
She panics.
And the only thing she can think to do to pull him back is to kiss him.
Her hands are clutching the collar of his jacket, and for a second he remains completely frozen, resisting the weight she puts into her death-grip. And then he's moving, fingers sliding up her jaw and across her cheek at the same time as one arm wraps around her waist.
She feels surrounded by him.
And she likes it.
He deepens the kiss for just a moment before breaking it. It hasn't lasted long at all, but she feels the loss of his warmth as he steps back from her.
She lets him go.
He clears his throat and straightens.
"We'll figure it out, Sam," he says. His voice is a little hoarse, and soft. But there's steel in it, too.
She nods in response, and smiles at him. Her pulse is pounding and she can still hear it in her ears.
She feels hopeful for the first time in days, but the best thing of all, she thinks?
His eyes are shining.
A/N: Oh, man. I've been writing this all day. I am still in my pyjamas from this morning and it's now after midnight. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much all readers/reviewers/followers!
By the way, 'outside the wire' is a military term for when you leave the safety of the base.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Stargate franchise. All other characters mentioned in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.